


Lavender Moon

by PeppermintTeas



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Get ready for the feels, Halloween AU, Junkenstein's Revenge, Smut, poetic pussy eating, porn with plot?, this took me way too long to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintTeas/pseuds/PeppermintTeas
Summary: Little less than a year had passed since the Reaper experienced his first clear memory of existence. All he knew then was how her soul anchored the wreckage of his to reality and that she must be protected. And still it seemed that was all he knew, but she wanted more. He wanted more.





	Lavender Moon

The moon hung low over the dark evergreens, casing long, sinister shadows that grabbed at bright moonlight. A warm southern breeze cascaded over the pines, the air heavy with the possibility of a summer storm. At that moment, though, the sky remained clear, with hundreds of stars shining in complement to the moon’s light. The Reaper gazed up at them. From his seat on the thatched roof of the tiny cottage his mistress used as a temporary shelter, he could only see a piece of the sky, half of the moon’s shine hidden by the dense pines. The stars he could see twinkled down at him, relaying some message he failed to understand, yet some distant, familiarity stirred within him, an old feeling, or a memory of a feeling. Just as he reached forward to grasp the thought, it dissolved into mist, leaving him with nothing but vague longing for something he could not name. The Reaper turned away from the stars, sweeping their uneasy familiarity back to the swirling darkness of his lost memories.

A candle light flickered in the cabin, casting a dim glow through the dirtied glass window. His mistress was still awake, despite the hours that had passed since the Dragon had taken her leave. His posture stiffened as his mind grumbled. A shadow does not require sleep, thus neither did he, however, his mistress was of a far more physical build. Magic would sustain her for long past what a normal human could stand, but even so, she would still suffer exhaustion and she often did. So much of who he was had been lost to the black abyss in his mind, but he knew, at his core, he was meant to serve and protect her. Yet, as much as it pained him, it was not his place to demand she take care of herself. He could only catch her as she fell.

The edges of his form blurred in the moonlight as black mist rose and engulfed him. Below, a spot of darkness grew up from the forest floor, writhing and twisting up through the air. Just as the last whips of mist faded on the roof, the darkness solidified to form the Reaper. Ghostly mist followed his footsteps as he walked up to the cottage door. It might not be his place to order her to rest, but he could at the very least remind her of the time. 

His hand hesitated over the latch, keen senses picking up sounds within. A shaky sigh, a quiet sniffle, a whimper muffled by a hand.  _ His mistress was hurt _ . Blood read rage flooded his mind, shutting out all but the untempered desire to destroy whoever had dared hurt her. He would not even use his shotguns, he would rip them apart with his hands.

The loud bang of the door being forced open was immediately followed by a short scream. The candle light sputtered in the resulting gust, casting the small space in dancing shadows. The Reaper’s eyes brushed over every shadow, from the many magical tomes stacked on the floor, to the sprigs of herbs and other magical components hanging from the rafters. Nothing stirred but the flickering candlelight. His eyes then fell on her, sitting in a crudely made wooden chair by an equally crude desk strewn with parchment, ink, and arcane glyphs. Her blonde hair hung down about her face as she stared up at him in shock, crystal blue eyes shimmering in tears. He could see the trails they had left down her cheeks. His arms shook as his fist clenched in anger.

“Reaper!” Her voice finally broke through the shock that muted her, “What are you doing?”

A deep growl rumbled in his chest before he formed the words. “Who hurt you?”

His mistress blinked at him, brows furrowed, before she suddenly and immediately turned away, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “No one.” She answered, her voice chilling the warm wind that blew in from the open door. “I’m fine.” The wooden chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back and stood, pouring every ounce of dignity and poise into her posture. It did not fool him for a second,

The red cloud that enveloped him tightened, drawing out another growl from his throat. “No, you are not.”

She stopped with a hand on the chair, her long fingers digging into the wood. Her head snapped around to stare at him, lips curled into a snarl. “Then it is none of your concern!” The quiver in her shout betrayed her and she turned away again, preferring to look at the side of the wooden wall then look at him. “Close that door before the candle blows out.”

The Reaper did as he was told, pushing the door closed until the iron latched shut. The silence hung between them as the candle flame gradually calmed. His footsteps were heavy on the floorboard as he walked closer to her. “Is there any way I might ease your distress, Mistress?”

Her stance tensed as her grip on the back of the chair tightened. “You can leave me be, Reaper.” He felt that her cool request should have stirred something within him, but nothing surfaced. With a silent nod, he turned from her to walk back to the door. 

“Wait…” Her call stopped his hand as sure as any spell. Quiet footsteps tapped behind him and he turned back to watch her sit on the small bed she slept in. “Don’t leave” she whispered, slowly lacing her fingers together in her lap. His hand fell back to his side as he studied her face, her eyes shimmering and downcast.

“I can’t… I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not… not  _ this _ night.” Her voice trembled from the weight of the words, fingers twisting together. His head twitched just slightly as a breathy laugh passed her lips unexpectedly. She looked up at him then, the strained smile on her face appearing as if it had been pasted on. “But you… you don’t even know, do you? You have no idea… you don’t remember,” a tear traced it’s way down her flushed cheeks “you’re… he’s gone”.

The Reaper stood silently as she gazed at him, her blue eyes flickering over him in search of... something. In search of  _ Him _ . Try as he might to obey her every wish, he could not retrieve the one she wanted from the ashes of his memories. No spell she cast or ritual she performed had restored him to what he was before, or had even brought back a tiny piece. With every failure, he saw the hope die a little in her eyes. As she gazed at him, he watched that bright hope fall as tears down her cheeks.

He could no longer bare her gaze. The one thing he felt, the bond that tied him to her, demanded he act to end her distress, but there was no action he knew to take. “What do you want of me?” He asked quietly.

A shuddering sigh left her lips as her eyes squeezed shut. “I want…” she paused, biting her lip, “I want something that you cannot give,” her words were frosted as she wiped her wet cheek with her palm. She turned away to pull her bare feet up on the bed and lay back, her body curled to face the wall. “and perhaps you never will” she added with a whisper. Her hand rose slightly and waved in the direction of the candle, snuffing the light out in an instant.

The Reaper clenched his fist in the darkness, frustration welling up inside him. Little less than a year had passed since his first clear memory of existence. All he knew then was how her soul anchored the wreckage of his to reality and that she must be protected. And still it seemed that was all he knew, but she wanted more.  _ He _ wanted more. 

Something deep within the ruins of the man he was stirred. The stars shone above him. The echo of a sweet voice shared magical tales of each constellation. The grass was warm and soft beneath his hand. Fireflies danced to the songs of crickets and frogs carried on the heavy breeze. Perfect lips curved into a smile. Those lips pressed against his own, soft, wanting. He wanted nothing else.

Again, he was in darkness. Standing tense in the tiny cottage, gloved fists clenched. The figure from his vision still lay curled on the bed. As if in a dream, he pulled his heavy gloves off, black mist rising from his dark skin. His fingers shifted in the dim light, fading as if they struggled to remember what they were. Clinging to the fractured memory, he rose his hands to grasp the pumpkin he hid his face behind and lifted it away. First, there was nothing but formless smoke, with red eyes peering out from the darkness, but as he placed the pumpkin on the table, the mist began to shift and take shape. The edges blurred and distorted, but the face was there. His face, or something like it.

Walking as if in a dream, he moved to the end of her bed. His misty hand reached down to her leg, fingers sliding up her calf. She jumped at the sudden contact, whipping her head around to stare at him. “What…” her voice faded into silence as she locked eyes with him, staring as if he had simply stolen her words. Feeling himself bending down, his free hand sought out her other leg, gently encouraging her to lay flat on her back. Never looking away, she complied.

“What are you doing?” Her voice returned to her, but only in a whisper. A reflexive urge to smile at her crossed his mind, but faded before he could act on it. His hands slid further up her legs, gently coaxing them apart.

“Reminding you… that you are not alone” he answered, his knees coming up to kneel on the end of her bed. He could hear her breath quicken as he bent low and placed a soft kiss on her calf, then another. “and remembering you…” he added in a whisper. His hands slid up to caress her thighs, dragging her night dress up as well. Her breath hitched as he placed a kiss just above her knee, eyes darting back to her. “If this isn’t what you-“

“No” her sharp objection cut him off, the tremble in her voice just enough to notice “no… don’t stop”.

“Of course, mistress”. He placed another kiss on her thigh, but she tensed.

“Don’t… don’t call me that” she ordered, voice strained. He looked back to her again to see another tear fall from her eye. “I hate it.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“Angela.”

“Angela…” he repeated the name, the warmth of familiarity passing through him as he spoke. Her name. He kissed her thigh again, whispering her name each time his lips left her skin. “Angela. Angela. Angela” each whisper was a spark within him, trying desperately to illuminate his forgotten memories. But the flame would not catch. He would just have to try harder.

He sucked at the soft skin of her thigh, relishing the content hum that escaped her. His hands tightened on her hips as he let his teeth sink down into the skin and he sucked harder. Desperate. Above him, his mistress gasped. No, his Angela. Lifting his lips away, he examined the bright red mark he had left on her as his thoughts swam in the strange high that overcame him.  _ His Angela _ .

Again, he descended on her thigh, placing another deep red mark beside the first. The possessive words played over and over in his mind as his lips pulled away from her skin only to descend on another flawless part again and again. Each time, she sighed in response, toes curling into the sheets beside him. He did not stop until her thighs were peppered with marks from his lips and teeth. He overlooked his handiwork with an overwhelming desire to smirk, his hands releasing their grip on her thigh to slide down over her thighs and back up.

She was wet with arousal, he could smell her. His hands stopped where her thighs met her center and then he slowly brushed his fingers over her abdomen. She shivered beneath his touch. He brought his hand back, just brushing over her slick folds. She gasped as her hips squirmed beneath him. Gently, he leaned forward and placed a kiss just above her folds. Then, he dipped down and drug his tongue across her wetness. 

The moan she emitted shook him to his core, igniting a flame inside that burned hot in his center. The taste of her lingered sweetly on his tongue as he closed his eyes to savor it. The warmth of memory flowed through him as he breathed in the sent of her sex mixed with the stormy air. He pushed his face up to her center again with vigor, tongue dancing circles around her clit. His ears rang with her gasps and moans, mixing so sweetly with the sounds of the summer night. With each flick of his tongue, her hips rose to press closer to his face, drowning him in her taste, her scent, her sound, her touch. Were God willing, he would immerse himself in her forever.

The sheet felt like cool grass on the back of his fingers as he grabbed her hips again to push her back down. Her breathing had become ragged and quick as he trailed his tongue down to slip inside her. She moaned loudly and her elegant fingers entwined themselves in his thick brown hair, pulling him closer, deeper inside her. Her whimper as he pulled his mouth back drew a growl from deep in his throat. 

“Please…” he heard her whisper, the sound of her voice flaring the fire within him. Withdrawing one of his hands from her hips, he traced down and slid a finger inside her. She relaxed and tensed all at once, her moan becoming strangled as he curled his finger against her walls. Taking her clit between his lips, he slipped another inside and pushed them as deep as they would go.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, nearly drowned out by her mewls and gasps as he pumped his fingers inside her. He hummed against her as he teased her clit with his tongue. Intimate memories flared in his mind, the feelings and desire that came with them so bright they blinded him to everything else. Reality faded away, replaced with blinding visions of the past. The feel of her skin beneath his solid hands, the sound of her cries of pleasure, the sharp tug of her fist in his hair as he pleasured her. How could he have forgotten? How could shadow have hidden something so, so bright?

“Oh… oh!” Her moans became more urgent, her hips fighting his hold to grind herself on his fingers. He growled low as his nails dug into her skin to hold her in place while he worked her. His tongue flicked her clit as he thrust his fingers in at an angle, moving faster so that she writhed beneath him. 

“G-Gabriel!” Her cry peeled through him as clear as the toll of a bell. Gabriel. That was the name. That was the name of the blinding affection that engulfed him. She had said it so many times before, pleading for the owner of that name to return to her. Only now, as she cried the name into the summer night and as flames of passion burned brightly inside him, did he recognize it as his own.

She moaned and squirmed as she came around his fingers, drawing out a smile from his lips. Releasing the grip on her thigh, he let her ride through her ecstasy, closing his eyes to savor every sound that she made as he twisted his fingers inside her. His face was aglow with the warmth of her as he leaned his cheek on her thigh. No shadows danced around his skin, no question of who he was and who  _ she _ was. “Angela.”

Her moans faded to sighs and humms as she gently floated down from her orgasam. Slowly, he removed his fingers from her and placed a light kiss on her over-sensitive clitorus, drawing a small, but sharp, gasp. Pulling away from the warmth of her core, he crawled gently up the bed to lay beside her, using an arm to hold himself so he could gaze down at her. As she looked at his face with those sparkling ocean eyes, she placed a hand on his cheek, caressing him. Her lip quivered as a tear began to form in here eye.

“Please…” she whispered in desperation, her fingers curling into his cheek “Don’t leave, Gabriel”.

A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he brought his hand up to cover hers. “I have never left you, Angela” he answered, freeing his cheek from her grip and gently bringing her fingers to his lips. “And I never will”.

He closed the distance between them to kiss her with all the warmth and love of the fire burning inside him. The fire that chased away the shadows shrouding his memories, that deep, dark fog that he lost himself in. She was that fire, shining so brightly through it all, he even saw the distant flicker in the darkest moments, drawing him to her. All he had to do was to reach out and hold her.

Drawing his lips away, he opened his eyes to see her, flushed and exhausted with pleasure. Her mouth parted slightly as her eyes lifted heavily open, before drifting closed again as he shushed her with gentleness. “Sleep, Angela. It’s been too long since you have”. Placing a kiss on her forehead, she hummed with contentment.

“Will you still be here...” She murmured softly, already falling into the clutches of sleep, “when I wake?”

“Always” he answered, brushing a lock of her golden hair to the side, “Always”.

 

————

 

Thunder ripped though the tiny cabin. The creaks and groans of the old trees made a frightening accompaniment to the wind that howled through them. The weak walls shuddered with the ferocity of the storm’s gale as rain pelted against the single glass pane. A blinding flash illuminated everything for only a moment, followed by another loud crack of thunder.

Angela slept through all of it, exhausted as she was from her days of missed sleep. He slowly turned his head to the side to look at her, wisps of her golden hair spread across the pillow and her face. Her face was relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted by her soft snore that could barely be heard over the storm. He reached up to gently touch her, to feel the warmth of her cheek again, but only a numb sensation met him. A sudden flash of light revealed the black mist hovering around her, forming only vaguely into the shape of a hand. Then the light vanished, plunging them both back in darkness.

He could feel it, that deep, dark fog creeping back around the edges of his mind. The flame that burned so bright only hours before, the light that reminded him of his own humanity, was growing dim. He tried so desperately to cling to it, to remember the feel of her skin beneath his hand, the taste of her on his tongue, her voice crying out his name. Every time he called a memory, the darkness slipped in a little further, wound itself a little tighter, and stripped away more of the color. The thought of his lips against her thigh evoked no feeling in him, the memories of her crying out in pleasure brought nothing but emptiness and more shadow.

Her face fluttered in her sleep as he studied her. “Angela” he whispered to the stormy air, waiting so patiently for the name to mean something. No feeling came. Angela was the name his mistress had asked that he call her, and he would obey. There was nothing more. He turned his head away from her, confusion and the feelings of half-faded memories he could not grasp drawing out frustration. 

The other name. Gabriel. He remembered thinking very clearly that was his name, but how had he come to that thought? The darkness had swallowed everything leading up to it. He had felt so clearly that he was Gabriel, but Gabriel was a man, a being with feelings and a solid form, filled with his own life, not the stolen souls of others. He was none of those things. He was a shadow, a creature held together by a witch’s soul and stolen life. 

His body felt blurred and distant, difficult to hold together and making him dizzy. Standing from the bed, he moved to the desk where his head and gloves waited. As he slipped the gloves on, he felt the shadow of his form adhere to them, filling them so he did not have to constantly focus on the shape of hands. He placed the head on his shoulders once more and the world became clear, but dark and colorless.

Glowing eyes fell on Angela’s forum again as the witch stirred in her sleep. That light was gone, snuffed out by the darkness that seemed even more determined to consume him then before. All that remained was the ever present lifeline that bound them together. As the rain pounded on the roof, the Reaper turned away, stepping out into the storm to keep watch for any that would dare approach or harm his mistress. His Angela.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a snippet from my particular imagining of the Junkenstine AU. I would like to write a story about the events leading up to Gabriel’s “curse” and how that all went down eventually. I just need to work out... details. Plot details.


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